


Custard

by Yods



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anna NelsonPOV, Drugged!Foggy, FoggyPOV, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Post-Season/Series 02, Pudding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yods/pseuds/Yods
Summary: Later he blames it on the fact that he’d just had (another) near death experience.  That he was in pain.  That he was onallthe drugs, probably.  That he had bottled up way too much when it came to Matt.  He wouldn’t normally react like this.Foggy has a bad day.  It gets better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not writing fic. I’m working, I swear.

She was awake early, like always. The house hadn’t had the chance to warm up yet, so she pulled a chair to the heater and snuggled up there. It was still quiet out. She knew from experience that the first noise would probably be from the trash collectors, and that about half an hour after that the strange man in 3b would start doing some kind of calisthenics. But for now it was quiet, and the light through the grimy window was clear. She mentally added cleaning the windows to the day’s chores, just like she had yesterday, before getting absorbed in her book and forgetting about it completely. 

The cup of tea in her hand was long cold when she was interrupted by the phone ringing.

“Foggy, sweetheart, why would you call so early? You know your dad is still asleep.” The thumping from 3b wasn’t due for another ten minutes _at least_. They really should talk to the landlord about the noise.

“Yeah. Hi. Sorry, Mom. Didn’t really notice the time. I am _so high_ right now.” He giggled, clearly trying to keep quiet.

The landlord could wait.

“Franklin Percy Nelson! What do you—“

“-- Oh, and I forgot to tell you something. Right. I called to tell you I’m in hospital.”

She put down the cup, carefully. “Sweetie, what happened?”

There was a short pause. “I got shot.”

“Again!”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose, Mom.” Suddenly it was like talking to a teenager again. She worried at the sleeve of her nightgown. Last time he’d gotten hurt he’d looked so sad and small in the hospital, trying to convince her he was fine. Her chest ached at the memory. 

“I know sweetie. But you have to be more careful. You don’t know how much we worry.” 

“I am careful.” She rolled her eyes. _Careful._ Taking on mobsters and murderous lunatics.

“You could take less dangerous cases.”

“I take cases to help people, Mom. That’s not going to change.” There was a bitterness in his voice she couldn’t explain. There’d been a lot of that, lately.

“I… just be careful, Foggy.” Maybe a change of topic was in order. “Why are you whispering?”

A longer hesitation this time. “Matt’s asleep. And it looks like he’s been here all night.”

She smiled to herself. “Oh. I’m glad you two made up, sweetie. It’s obvious how much you love each other.”

“Mom--” There was that whining-teenage voice again. God forbid they talked about their _feelings_. At least the long hair was gone.

“Yes, yes. I said I wouldn’t say anything. You get some rest. Your dad and I will come and see you later this morning.”

“That’s not--”

“Bye sweetie. Get some rest.”

Foggy sighed and put down the phone. His mother had hung up on him before he’d had the chance to reply. Matt was huddled uncomfortably in a chair at the far end of the room, pale and crumpled in a suit that had seen better days. He’d been whispering because he thought he was asleep, but that was before he saw him flush bright red as the conversation went on.

The stiches in his side really ached. Foggy cautiously hauled himself somewhat upright and looked at the tray next to his bed. The bowl of ancient vanilla pudding was better off ignored. He scrunched up a napkin instead and pelted it at Matt.

Matt reached up lazily and nabbed it out of the air with his fingertips, before opening his eyes. _Asshole._ He stretched and yawned slightly, grinning at him. “Don't stop now. You were about to profess you undying love for me.”

 _Smug asshole._ Foggy huffed, smiling despite himself. “Give me that back so I can throw it at you again.”

“Now, now. You need to mind you don’t tear out your stitches.”

Foggy rolled his eyes. That was rich, coming from Matt. “You are gigantically irritating.”

Matt half-smiled. “At least you mom still likes me.” He looked a bit too regretful for it to be an off-hand comment.

This got him a flash of real irritation. Matt had no business standing there looking sad, as though _he_ was the one who had been wronged. Foggy snapped at him. “You’re much easier to get along with when you’re asleep.”

“Just think how well it will go when I finally get myself killed.” Matt was joking. He knew he was. It was in fantastically bad taste, but it was a joke.

Later he blames it on the fact that he’d just had (another) near death experience. That he was in pain. That he was on _all_ the drugs, probably. That he had bottled up way too much when it came to Matt. He wouldn’t normally react like this. 

Foggy felt himself going cold. “ _That’s_ what you’re counting on? That I’ll remember you fondly when you’re gone?”

Matt must hear something in his voice. Or his heart. Or smell the rage in his sweat or something. He doesn’t respond.

“I won’t. You bastard, I won’t.” Foggy’s voice cracked. “I’ll remember you as the asshole who lied to me. The guy who let me down, you son-of-a-bitch.” He’s shouting now. “I’ll remember you as the fucking asshat who hurt the people who care about him and didn’t…. didn’t…” Foggy cast around helplessly and grabbed the skinned-over bowl of custard pudding from the tray. He hurled it at Matt – Matt, who can catch arrows out of the air – and it hit him right in the chest. Stale custard splashed over his shirt and dripped to the ground. Matt stood there, stunned, eyes wide, as a nurse rushed in.

“You should leave, you’re upsetting him.” She barely addressed Matt before turning to Foggy. “Are you OK? I could--” Matt had half turned away and started to walk out.

“No. No, he doesn’t get to leave.” Foggy raised his voice. “You don’t get to leave. You don’t get to martyr yourself and think it’s going to fix everything. Stay here you piece of shit.”

Matt froze. The nurse clucked. “Fine. But you have to calm down and take it easy. I’m just going to check your stitches, and I’m giving you a mild sedative.”

He wanted to argue and say that he was fine, but he was going to set a good example if it killed him. Besides, the hole in his side really hurt. He grit his teeth. “OK. Thank you.”

The nurse busied herself with the dressings on his wound. He kept staring at Matt, determined not to look at the frigging bullet hole. Fresh air stung as she peeled back the bandage.

Matt swayed on the spot, his back still turned, head tipped down. Foggy watched as he took a couple of deep, shaky breaths, and then turned on his heel and stepped toward the bed. Slipped on the smeared pudding and hit the ground ass-first. Foggy stared in astonishment. He’d never seem Matt so much as stumble before. Matt looked as dumbfounded as he was. The nurse turned and sighed. “You OK?”

Matt mutely opened and closed his mouth. “Ye…yes.”

Foggy snorted. Of course he’d say he was OK, goldfish imitation notwithstanding. He giggled, and Matt’s affronted expression as he sat there in a puddle of breakfast pudding broke him into full, chest-heaving laughter.

Matt scowled and Foggy barely heard as the nurse muttered to herself. “Yeah, a sedative really isn’t a bad idea.”

Foggy’s laughter trickled out to nothing as the nurse fiddled with his IV. Matt cautiously pushed himself up with a hand to the floor. The nurse tossed a cloth at him to clean himself up. It hit him in the arm and dropped to the ground. Matt glowered in her direction and Foggy could tell the exact moment she realised she’d thrown something at a blind man by the flicker of a cringe in her expression.

She left quickly and it was just the two of them. Matt pointlessly dabbed at the stain on his shirt and Foggy couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him.

The silence stretched. Foggy was never very good with silence. “I meant what I said.” Matt winced. Looked down and clenched his jaw. “Don’t you fucking dare die.” Matt frowned. He could be remarkably dim for such a smart guy.

Foggy sighed. “Come over here.” He waited while Matt got over his confusion and, very carefully, stepped over the rest of the pudding and stood unhappily next to the bed. “Give me your hand.” 

He complied, hesitantly. Delicate fingers and scabbed-over knuckles. Foggy shook his head to himself and took Matt’s hand in a firm grip. Matt looked faintly shell-shocked.

“I’m tired and everything hurts. I’m going to sleep,” Foggy declared. He closed his eyes, determined not to open them again, no matter what stupid faces Matt was making. He tried to control his breathing so he could actually get to sleep. 

Matt’s hand twitched in his. After a while he actually started to feel sleepy. He could feel movement next to him. Matt was probably going to leave. He wanted to say something to make him understand, but he was supposed to be sleeping, after all. This thought was interrupted by the sound of a chair being dragged, and a small sigh as Matt settled into it. He didn't move his hand. Foggy refused to grin to himself at the thought of the custard stain Matt was going to leave behind. He completely refused to admit to himself that the sudden warmth in his chest might be something other than petty amusement.

Foggy gradually relaxed the death-grip he had on Matt’s hand as he started to drift away. Hospital drugs really were amazing. There was a faint dip in the bed next to him. He was reminded of Baggins, the part-spaniel mutt he’d had as a kid. She wasn’t allowed on the bed – at least, his parents had decided she wasn’t allowed on the bed – but at night after everyone was asleep she’d very carefully crawl up and he’d wake up with a small, warm body cuddled up to him. Foggy fuzzily wanted to pet the weight next to him, but detangling his hand was too much effort. He sighed, half-asleep, and cracked an eyelid to see what was going on.

Matt had leant sideways, resting his head on the edge of the bed. Foggy couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. The urge to pet him did not go away. He looked considerably more comfortable than he had crumpled up in the chair across the room. Foggy closed his eyes gratefully - no zombie puppies here – and went to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is. It was supposed to be a fluffy little drabble, but it got away from me.


End file.
